


11 Blocks

by dreamersshouldknowbetter



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff in the flashbacks, Future Fic, Reconciliation, Song fic, lots of reflection, post breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamersshouldknowbetter/pseuds/dreamersshouldknowbetter
Summary: I still search for you in crowds,in empty fields and soaring clouds.In city lights and passing cars,on winding roads and wishing stars.— 	Lang Leav (Lullabies)(Based off of "11 Blocks" by Wrabel)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is extremely near and dear to my heart - I put so much effort into it and I hope you enjoy it! Thank you to @riverdalelovee and @redhead-riverdale for being the greatest betas a girl could ask for - this story wouldn't have happen without you two <3

**Eight blocks away.**

Jughead sat in the back corner of his local coffee shop, inhaling the scent of freshly ground beans and finding solace in the way his fingers danced so easily across the keyboard.

He took a sip of his black coffee, cold now as he had left it sitting too long, abandoned when he’d gotten swept up in his writing. He figured he should probably get a new one, the staff here was familiar with him and would happily give him a refill, but the bitter taste was only fueling his melancholy further, and it felt appropriate. It was a mild form of punishment, holding no real meaning. He found himself inflicting these punishments on himself a lot lately: not bothering to turn on lights when he came home, forcing himself to walk through puddles instead of around them, letting his shower water run just a bit too hot to be comfortable.

He supposed that’s just what you do when life has lost all of its color.

His phone buzzed for what had to be the millionth time that afternoon, and he looked down to see yet another string of texts from Archie.

 

 

> You’re still coming to the party right?
> 
> Don’t bail on me again bro
> 
> We’ve got to get you back out there

  
He picked up his phone to type a response, but found he didn’t have the energy to come up with an excuse. And he certainly wasn’t going to agree to go. He’d find time to reply later.

His eyes flickered up toward the empty seat across from him. Tables are often meant for two, and this one was no exception. If he stared long enough he could picture her sitting there, her lashes fluttering as she glanced up at him, a small smile playing across her lips.

_“What are you doing silly?” She tapped her pencil on the top of his laptop, “You’ve got a deadline to meet. You need to focus.” Her green eyes glimmered as they met his, “The sooner you finish the sooner we can go back to my place.”_

_“Well that’s certainly not going to help me focus.” He laughed._

He shook himself out of his daydream and returned to his work, allowing himself to get swept up in his narrative the way he so often did. He had spent hours at this table writing. His apartment was much too stuffy, much too familiar. The coffee shop provided the perfect balance of comfort and stimulation. New people flowed in and out each day, often tourists. Jughead liked to observe them from the back of the shop, to imagine what their lives must be like.

Today a couple caught his attention. It was obvious to Jughead that this was their first date. There were so many dead giveaways: the awkward hug at the beginning, how he intercepted her coffee bill when she tried to pay, the nervous way he rubbed his hands together and she twirled the ends of her hair.

He watched as they slowly found a conversational rhythm, her laugh becoming more genuine and his smile brightening past its initial shyness. There was so much hope to be found in them. Hope for a future, hope for love, hope for a new start.

Hope he hadn’t felt in a long time.

_“Isn’t it beautiful how they’re still in love?” she mused, eyes drifting to the elderly couple that had taken residence at a table a few feet away._

_“I guess,” He replied, barely looking up from his screen, “I’m sure they’ve had plenty of issues.”_

_She pursed her lips and gently kicked him under the table, “C’mon Juggie, you have to stop looking at the whole world like it’s broken. There has to be at least one thing that doesn’t make you think the whole world is doomed.”_

_He looked up at her then, his eyes settling on the golden ray of hope who brought life to his monochrome world, “There is.”_

He watched the new couple a little while longer before glancing at his watch and deciding it was time to head home. He picked up his phone and typed a lame excuse to Archie about having to meet a deadline. With a heavy sigh he stood, giving a small wave to the barista and stepping out into the cool autumn air.

* * *

 

**Eleven blocks away.**

His apartment was small and incredibly lackluster. When he had first moved in he put a lot of effort into keeping the place tidy, even keeping plants by the window in an effort to liven the place up. He had long since abandoned any such plans, constantly too drained to bother with appearances.

He opened the fridge and pretended to examine his options before closing it and reaching for the takeout pamphlets like he always did. Settling on pizza, her pulled his phone out of his pocket and noticed a missed call from Archie, presumably made on his walk home. He hit the call back button and braced himself.

“Jughead!” He winced at the overly enthusiastic welcome, “What the hell, man? You cannot seriously be bailing on me. This is like the fifth party you’re skipping! You can’t do this!”

“Sorry Arch, I’m just… I gotta meet this deadline.”

“I happen to know that your ahead on your work right now. You’re coming.”

“I don’t know…”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and when Archie finally spoke his tone was gentler, “It’s been over two years, Jug. You can’t stay holed up forever.”

Jughead squeezed his eyes shut at the words, wishing them away. He swallowed hard, his voice gruff when he finally responded, “Fine. I’ll come.”

He hung up before Archie could say anything else and released a few choice expletives beneath his breath. He paused for a beat to collect himself before picking up the phone once more, this time dialing in for pizza.

_He opened the door and was instantly greeted with the overwhelming scent of cheese and tomato sauce. Music was playing from a speaker somewhere, and he could hear her loudly singing along._

_He rounded the corner slowly and smiled as he watched her dance between the counter and the stove top, oblivious to everything else. A part of him didn’t want to speak up, wanted to simply let her continue on forever uninterrupted. Nevertheless he cleared his throat and said hello to alert her to his presence._

_She jumped back, clutching an oven mitt to her chest. “Juggie! You scared me!” She laughed breathlessly, “Why are you home so early?”_

_He crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her gently, “I finished the latest chapter and sent it off to my editor. He won’t get it back to me until tomorrow.”_

_“Well I was going to surprise you with dinner…” She pouted slightly, her finger absentmindedly tracing its way down his chest, “but since you came home early it isn’t finished.”_

_“It still smells amazing. What is it?”_

_“Homemade pizza!” She exclaimed, stepping out of his embrace to check its progress._

_He laughed, leaning up against the counter as he watched her, “You really do know the way to my heart.”_

The delivery guy arrived forty-five minutes later. Jughead sat down at his table, taking a bite of pizza and wishing it tasted a little less like cardboard and a little more like love.

* * *

 

**Fourteen blocks away.**

Rooftop parties were overrated. Especially when it was late August and the sun had set and everything was slightly damp with the late night moisture. Jughead had been to a million of these over the course of his career, and this one was just like all the others – full of boring people trying way too hard to impress one another.

He meandered around for a bit, talking to a few people he knew from the publishing company. It was later in the evening now, the chatter subdued around him. With any luck he’d be able to leave soon.

“Jughead!” Archie called out suddenly, coming up behind him and slapping his arm over Jughead’s shoulder. “You made it! Perfect timing, I need a wingman.”

Jughead groaned internally but complied, allowing Archie to lead him toward two particularly leggy women nursing oddly-colored cocktails.

“Jughead, this is Amber and Brittany.” Archie introduced.

“Omigosh, you’re Jughead Jones?” Amber asked, eyes widening with recognition, “I loved your first book! Sooooo dark.”

“Uh, thanks.” Jughead mumbled, noting Archie already slipping away with the other girl.

“So,” Amber started, a flirty smile playing across her overly-glossed lips, “Are you writing a second one?”

_“Sorry what?”_

_“I asked if you’re writing a follow up to your first work?” The unfamiliar blonde smiled at him hesitantly, “Sorry, you probably get that question a lot.”_

_He did get the question a lot, and it was one he typically avoided, but he felt he should make an exception for her. He couldn’t help it, he knew he wanted to get to know this stranger, “It’s in the early stages.” He winked, “Very early.”_

_“You know, you’re not as rude as everyone says you are.” She mused absentmindedly, regretting instantly filling her gorgeous green eyes, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“_

_“No, it’s okay.” He stopped her, finding it impossible to be offended by her sincerity, “I do have quite the reputation. It comes with the territory, writing such somber material.” He felt a sudden surge of confidence overcome him, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don’t know who you are. Miss…” He trailed off, leaving her to fill in the blank._

_The girl tilted her head ever-so-slightly, an amused gesture he would become very familiar with in the coming months. A smile grew across her lips as she offered her hand in official greeting._

_“Betty.”_

He needed a smoke.

He left Amber in a manner he was sure Archie would chew him out for earlier, but he honestly didn’t care. Despite the fact that he was already outside (that was, in fact, the whole point of a rooftop party) he took the elevator down to the ground floor and stepped out onto the curb before lighting up.

It was a nasty habit. He knew it, the middle-aged woman sending him a judgmental look as she passed knew it, but it gave him comfort nonetheless. He’d picked it up after college and couldn’t stop. It wasn’t surprising, given his family. Addictive personality, he believed it was called. A particular set of personality traits that predisposed him to developing addictions. He’d seen the downfall of the bottle, witnessed the chains that came with pills, even been privy to the heartache that accompanied gambling. He figured smoking was as minimal of a habit as a guy like him could hope for.

Another party-goer came out and stood on the curb next to him. A brunette, with wild curls and a slim figure.

“Got a light?” She asked, holding out her cigarette.

He didn’t say anything, silently pulling his lighter from his jacket pocket and setting it ablaze. She gratefully lit up her cigarette and took a drag, exhaling dramatically.

“Not much for parties, huh?” She asked jokingly, looking out onto the street rather than at Jughead directly.

“The more I attend the more I realize they’re all the same.”

“Exactly.” She agreed, the two of them settling into a comfortable silence.

Jughead watched her out of the corner of his eye as she took another drag. She was quite striking. And he really didn’t have much to lose.

“Hey,” he said abruptly, breaking the silence, “Do you want to get out of here?”

She looked at him for a moment, as if assessing whether or not he might try to whisk her off to an alley and kill her. She seemed to deem him nonthreatening, however, because she smiled. “What the hell, why not.”

* * *

 

**Two blocks away.**

Her name was Vanessa. She was bold and bright and confident and everything Jughead was not. She gave him relief from himself, a welcome reprise from the mediocrity of his life.

He had promised to make her dinner tonight, for their six month anniversary. He’d never really been good at cooking, but after some careful googling he had settled on a recipe for pasta casserole that seemed simple enough.

The dinner required spices he wasn’t sure she’d have in her apartment, which is how he ended up at some over-hyped spice store seven blocks away. Get in and get out, that was his mission. Except this store was covered in spices, shelves and shelves of it. He didn’t even know so many options existed. He considered asking one of the employees for help, but he caught sight of a man-bun and quickly became determined to find what he needed himself.

It took Jughead almost a full twenty minutes to find what he was looking for, and by the time his purchases were being rung up he was growing increasingly anxious. He didn’t like to spend much time on this side of the city past five o’clock. A flash of blonde hair passing by the window quickly reminded him why.

_“Isn’t it funny how we can only live a few blocks away and somehow inhabit totally different worlds?” She asked, her fingers interlocking with his as they passed a series of shops on the sidewalk._

_“Yeah, I live in the real world and you live in hipster heaven.”_

_She laughed, “It’s not ‘hipster heaven’. Local shops are important! You’re just upset because your apartment is grimy.”_

_“It’s not grimy!” He protested, “It just has character. I’m getting the true New York experience.”_

_She giggled, placing a quick peck on his cheek before continuing down the sidewalk, “Whatever you say. Just you wait, I’ll have you singing Kumbaya and buying organic in no time.”_

_“Oh man,” Jughead rolled his eyes, “can’t wait.”_

He grabbed his bag and bolted out the door, his head turning instantly in the direction she had been walking. Nothing. She was gone. She was probably never there. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

He needed to get out of this apartment.

* * *

 

**Nine blocks away.**

Turns out pasta casserole isn’t as simple as the internet had let him to believe. Vanessa was set to arrive any minute and he was still trying to figure out how to whisk cheese on a stove top. So much for a romantic dinner.

When Vanessa came home she found Jughead standing in her kitchen, surrounded by various ingredients and looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“How’s dinner coming?” She asked sarcastically.

He didn’t even look at her, too flustered to respond with anything more than an aggravated grumble. She reached up and wrangled her curls into an elastic, picking up a fork and pushing Jughead aside. He watched as she grabbed hold of the pan and expertly whisked the milk and cheese together.

“Pasta casserole, huh?”

“I tried.” He apologized, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Jughead,” She laughed, “I know you can’t cook. Don’t worry it’s cute. It’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

_“I love you.” She whispered, her hands reaching up to push a stray curl out of his face before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on his temple._

_He sighed into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment and making a conscious effort to relax the strain in his shoulders._

_“You’ll get through this block,” She promised, fingers leaving his skin and brushing across the pages splayed out in front of him, each one covered in red ink. “It’s just one bad chapter. It won’t last.” She began to step away, pausing in the doorway to repeat the phrase that had started to resemble a mantra, “I love you.”_

Jughead smiled, placing a playful kiss on her lips.

“I love you too Vanessa.”

* * *

 

**Eleven blocks away.**

Jughead slammed the door to his apartment shut behind him. “Vanessa!” He called out, “I got us Chipotle for dinner. Don’t worry, I got extra guac just like you prefer.” He placed the take out on the kitchen counter, “Vanessa?” He called again, surprised at the lack of response. He shuffled out of the kitchen and into the living room only to find it empty. How hard was it to lose someone in an apartment this small?

He stepped up to the door of his bedroom, slowly pushing the door open. “Vanessa?” He asked again, his breath catching in surprise when his eyes finally landed on her. She was sitting at his desk, a fistful of manuscript in her palm.

“Jughead?” Vanessa asked, her brown eyes brimming with anxiety. “What is this?”

Jughead felt the ground fall out beneath him as he tried to take steps toward her, “It’s nothing.”

_“Can’t you just leave me alone? It’s nothing, I’ll deal with it on my own.” Jughead grumbled._

_“Jughead you can’t keep shutting me out!” Betty insisted._

Vanessa laughed in disbelief, pressing her lips together before standing up to meet him. “It’s not nothing.”

He looked her in the eye and quickly looked away, the pain he saw there too much to handle.

“Who is she?”

“She’s nobody!” He insisted, watching her fists curl around the title page. “It’s nothing.”

“She’s not nobody, Jughead.” Vanessa gestured over toward the stack of papers spread out across the table, “If she was nobody you wouldn’t have spent the last three years of your life writing about her.”

_“You think I haven’t noticed how things have changed?” Betty cried, “You think I haven’t seen how your work has been tearing our relationship apart?”_

He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond.

“Do you…” Vanessa whispered, “do you still love her?”

_“Do you still love me?” Betty asked, tears brimming over as she stood in the middle of his apartment – their apartment._

_He stood facing her, the few feet between them feeling like a world of distance._

_“I’ve been having a hard time lately,” He defended, arms crossing over his chest like makeshift armor, “My editor hasn’t like a single sentence I’ve sent him in months!”_

_“And you blame me, don’t you?”_

_It was the first time she had outright asked it, and the moment the words left her lips she wished she could take them back. It was the question they’d been skirting around for weeks, knowing how risky exposing the truth could be._

“Jughead,” Vanessa pleaded, repeating herself, “do you still love her?”

Jughead felt his heart crumple at the ache of her tone, forcing his walls to fall and let the pain came flooding back in. All the heartache and loss and loneliness he had felt for three years, it was all in her tone. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t hatred, it wasn’t resentment. It was tragic, all-consuming, heartbreak.

_“You think that you can’t write dark material, because I make you too happy.” Betty whispered, afraid to continue but knowing it was much too late to stop, “But it’s not true. You haven’t allowed me to make you happy for a long time now. Instead, you’ve just made both of us miserable. And you’re still stuck.”_

_The silence that followed was deafening._

Her question hung in the air, begging to be answered. They stood in patient silence as he searched for something, anything, to say.

_“Well if you’re so miserable why are you still here?” His tone was spitting, dark eyes reflecting the hardness of his heart._

“I’m so sorry.” Was all he could manage.

_Betty just looked at him for a moment, her hurt giving way to a defeated resignation._

_“I don’t know.”_

Vanessa nodded her head as the truth set in. With the title page still in her hand she took a step toward him, placing it gently on his chest. His hand instinctively reached up to cover hers.

“You should go after her.” She whispered in his ear, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. She didn’t even look at him as she left, leaving him standing alone in his room with nothing but his own words to destroy him once again.

* * *

 

It took Jughead three full weeks to leave the apartment after Vanessa left.

The first week he grieved. Archie left messages, none of which garnered a response. Jughead didn’t feel like talking, instead choosing to curl up inside himself and let the pain and suffering of his entire world consume him. He spent his days in bed staring at the ceiling, only looking away when he needed to eat or sleep.

The second week he purged. Overcome with anger and annoyance, he threw everything that reminded him of Vanessa off the fire escape. Gone were the picture frames, the ridiculous mini plants, even the leftovers in the fridge from their last meal out. He cleaned everything, scrubbing the counter tops and washing the sheets, doing whatever he could to remove all traces of her from his apartment.

The third week he wrote. He picked up the pages Vanessa had thrown at him, calmly placed them next to his laptop, and began to write it all. He wrote about Betty, about the love she had gifted him. He painted portraits of her smile, created sonnets of her laughter, crafted poetry of her light. And then he wrote about his pain, the way he felt when she left him. He conceived paragraphs of his heartache, authored pages of his anger, drew images of his darkness. Everything he had denied himself of the past three years exposed itself on white pages, giving way to intense clarity. The words that were left colored a clear picture, one Jughead should have been able to see all along; Betty had been his everything, and, even after three years without her, she still was.

When he finished, he printed it all out and set it on his desk, pausing to take in the small stack of papers that now contained his entire soul.

And then Jughead stood up, gathered his work, and left his apartment.

**Eleven blocks away.**

He didn’t stop to think, letting his feet begin to trod the course he had long ignored, but never truly forgotten.

**Ten blocks away.**

He held his pages close to his chest, as though afraid they might fly away if he were to let go. Jughead wasn’t quite certain of his plan, but this was the most courage he had managed to muster in three years and he certainly wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

**Eight blocks away.**

He passed the coffee shop where he’d spent so many days writing about his pain. He had always seen it as a healthy way of grieving, but he knew now that years of writing apologies meant nothing if he never delivered them.

**Five blocks away.**

His heart began to pound in time with his footsteps, increasing in intensity with each passing building. He was really going to do this.

 **Two blocks away**.

He was close now, and he didn’t know how but he could feel her. He realized he had always felt her.

**One block away.**

He gripped the manuscript tighter in his hands, praying to God it was enough.

**Zero blocks away.**

He stood in front of her door, still familiar after all this time. On the other side of that door lay a multitude of possibilities, each one more dizzying than the last. Three years of distance stood between him and that door, three years of life that went on without him – despite him. He wasn’t quite sure what was waiting for him on the other side, but he knew he had to find out.

He took a deep breath and knocked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took me a full month but I finally got it together - a follow up to 11 Blocks! If you're reading this, thank you for coming back to this story - I know it's been a long time. I love you all, and I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> A huge thank you to my betas @riverdalelovee and @redhead-riverdale over on tumblr! Without them, this story would have never come together!

**She set my soul on fire, every glance like seeing for the first time. Like Icarus, I flew too close to her sun, believing her light to be only for me. Only the tragedy here is not that I got burned, but that my selfishness extinguished her light, destroying the luminous beauty that had called me to her in the very beginning.**

“Hi Betty.”

She stiffened, frozen in her doorway, unable to make a move.

Her vision was flooded with dark hair and narrow shoulders, slender arms and plaid flannel. The faint aroma of cigarettes enveloped her, instantly setting her on edge.

“Jughead?” She choked.

“In the flesh.” He quipped awkwardly, his mouth pulling into a tight smile. “How, um, how are you?”

“What are you doing here?” She asked, ignoring his feeble attempt at small talk.

“I, uh…” he seemed to consider her question, as if it hadn’t actually occurred to him that he might need a reason for standing on her doorstep. “I wrote you something.” He finally managed, hastily holding out a stack of papers held together with the binder clips.

“You… wrote me something?” She asked, staring down at the strange gift he was so blatantly offering without actually taking it from his hands.

“Yeah it – I mean I – you sort of inspired it.”

_“I can’t think in this apartment!” He yelled, slamming his hands on his desk and jumping to his feet, “How am I ever supposed to find inspiration when you keep suffocating me like this!”_

_“I’m suffocating you?” She screamed back, “We’ve barely said three words to each other since you’ve come home!”_

_Jughead began to gather his material into his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder and storming toward the door._

_“Where are you going?” Betty turned on her heel and followed him out of the room._

_“I’m going to get some air!” He yelled without looking back, the door slamming with a loud thud and leaving Betty alone, again._

Something twisted in Betty’s heart, like a knife cutting against an old wound, and her eyes instantly darkened. How dare he. _How dare he_.

She had dreamt of this moment for years, envisioned every possible outcome, scripted every possible conversation. He would come to her, bearing apologies full of regret and proclamations full of love. But that was three years ago, and this was none of those things. There was no proclamation, no apology, just a pitiful stack of papers and the heavy weight of silence.

“You brought me writing that _I inspired_?” She laughed, shaking her head in disbelief, “I – I just -”

“Please,” he begged, his voice almost a whisper, “Please. Just read it. Read it and I promise you’ll never have to hear from me again.”

She didn’t want it, any of it. The universe had decided to play a cruel joke by placing him on her doorstep, bearing the one thing that had torn them apart. How could she possibly accept such a grotesque offering?

Wordlessly, she reached out and took the manuscript from his hands, trying to ignore the hope that flashed across his eyes and the way her heart stirred as her fingers brushed against his. She didn’t say anything as she slammed the door in his face, walked into her bedroom, and dropped the manuscript straight into the trash.

* * *

**They say ignorance is bliss, but choosing not to see did not make my problems disappear. It simply turned our tomorrows into yesterdays, transformed our dreams into nightmares. My efforts to stay blind to my own faults only replaced my efforts to care for her, to love her, to hold her.**

The office was buzzing around her, the steady thrill that always came with an impending deadline sending everyone into a frenzy. Normally days like these gave Betty a similar rush, but today she just couldn’t seem to put her heart into it. She had finished her monthly profile the week before, a rather in-depth interview with an up-and-coming playwright. Unfortunately, that left Betty with no active assignments and a very active mind.

_“What are you thinking about?” He asked, noting the way her lips had tightened in a thin line of concentration._

_“I’m nervous about this article,” she explained, “It’s my first real assignment and I just really don’t want to screw it up.”_

_He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze, leaning forward and bringing his lips to her ear. “They’re not gonna know what hit them,” He whispered, “I know how incredible you are, and it won’t be long before the rest of the world does too.”_

Betty reached across her desk and picked up the small glass paperweight placed proudly on the end, her thumb tracing the corner absentmindedly. It was her first award, unimpressive when compared to the various accolades lining her office wall, but one of her favorites nonetheless. She smiled sadly at the engraving, trying to recall the feeling of pride receiving it had given her. The little trinket had always provided her a sense of comfort and certainty, but today she felt only astounding insecurity.

Her mind trailed to the manuscript still lying in her trash bin at home. She refused to move it, but the top page had remained visible, and she failed all attempts to not read it. In lieu of a title page, there was only a short dedication:

To Betty Cooper, the kindest and strongest women I have ever met. I give you all I have left within me.

It was only two short sentences, but it seemed to be haunting her every thought, dwelling around every corner. She longed for work to escape into, something to distract her from her ever-running mind. It was on days like these that she preferred to curl up in bed with a good book. Or, as she so wistfully remembered, a good person.

_“You okay?” He asked, reaching out and gently tugging at a strand of her loose blonde waves._

_She fluttered her sad eyes up at him, snuggling closer and pulling his arms around her waist. She buried her nose in his shoulder and hummed at the rub of his thumb against her back. He kissed her temple and smiled, pulling the covers up over the heads and preserving them in their own private world._

_She giggled, all her worries melting away in the warmth of his embrace._

_“I am now.”_

“Betty?” A knock on her office doorframe pulled Betty from her reminiscent haze.

“Yes Janet?” Betty straightened her spine, readying herself to dive into whatever task may be presented to her.

“You should head home for the evening.” Her boss smiled, “I’ll be sending you your next assignment in a few hours, but there’s no need to begin research until the morning.”

“Oh,” Betty felt her smile fall just a bit. “Alright, thank you.”

* * *

**Moving on was the grandest fool’s errand I have ever attempted. How does one forget their entire world? Love cannot be forgotten, but is rather forged into your soul, branded on your heart forever.**

Betty sat at her laptop, trying to concentrate. She’d been attempting research on her newest assignment for the past half hour, but she couldn’t stop her mind from drifting. How could he have just shown up like that? Three years of no contact and he just appears on her doorstep like some sort of twisted dream. He barely even said anything – although, she hadn’t quite given him the chance.  

“He doesn’t deserve a chance,” she reminded herself, turning back to her notes and trying to type.

She only managed about a paragraph before her eyes wandered to the trash bin next to her desk. The manuscript was still there, calling to her with some sort of heartbroken siren song. It would be so easy to just reach in and pull it out…

“Focus, Betty,” she chided herself, curling her itching fingers into a fist. This was useless, she was never going to get any work done like this. She took several deep breaths before picking up her phone and dialing the first number on her speed dial.

“Hello?” A perky voice rang out across the line.

“Hi Ronnie,” Betty breathed, not realizing until she spoke that she had been holding her breath.

“Betty? Is everything okay?” Betty could hear the sudden concern in Veronica’s tone, the sincerity tugging on Betty’s heart and bringing unexpected tears to her eyes.

“Umm, I just… do you have a minute?” Her voice wavered.

“Do I need to come over? I can be there in twenty minutes.”

_“Are you seriously not coming?” Betty asked, one hand holding the phone to her ear and the other reinforcing the half-moon indents she had so meticulously crafted over the previous weeks._

_There was a silence on the other end. She could practically see him sitting there, self-consciously adjusting his beanie as he tried to come up with yet another excuse._

_“I just – I can’t tonight. I’m finally making some progress on this chapter and –“_

_“And your mediocre chapter is more important than the biggest panel of my career?” She hissed, instantly feeling regret at her choice of words, “I - I didn’t mean that.” She corrected, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers to offset her frustration._

_“Yes you did.” He growled._

_“I just-“ Her voice broke, revealing the disappointment and heartbreak hiding beneath her surface, “I really could use your support here, Jughead.”_

_“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”_

“You don’t need to come over, I just need someone to talk to.”

“Of course,” Veronica said, “What’s going on?”

Betty fell back onto her bed with an exaggerated thud, grabbing a pillow and clutching it close to her chest. “Jughead showed up last week.”

“He what?” Veronica shrieked, forcing Betty to wince and pull the phone away from her ear, “What did he want?”

Betty bit her lip, staring up at the ceiling and releasing a heavy sigh, “I don’t know.” She lied. “I slammed the door in his face before he could really say anything.”

“Betts are you… are you okay?” Veronica asked, concern flooding the edge of her voice.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just…” Veronica paused, the sympathetic silence making Betty want to curl up and disappear, “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been, seeing him again. It’s been a long time since you’ve even talked about him.”

Betty chewed on her bottom lip, “That’s because I _moved on_.”

“Have you?”

Veronica’s words hung uncomfortably in the air, pressing on Betty’s heart and somehow making it harder to breathe. _Of course_ , she’d moved on. It had been three years. Three years of searching for a new direction, three years of moving forward, three years of deliberately forgetting. No longer did she imagine the warm touch of his fingertips across her skin, nor did she long for the rough push of his lips against hers. She didn’t dream of thick black locks that curled between her fingers, or moles that formed constellations more beautiful than the night sky. She didn’t think about what used to be, not anymore.

Right?

“Ronnie, I gotta go.” Betty hung up the phone, ignoring the distant protests from Veronica. Pulling herself off the bed, Betty walked over to her desk and hovered above the trash bin. She bit her lip, debating her next move. If she were to simply ignore it, this could all go away. She wouldn’t have to face her heartbreak, she wouldn’t have to relive her pain. She could just take the manuscript out to the dumpster and move on with her life, leaving an old wound sealed and an old love in the past.

Or she could read the words he had written just for her, find every punctuation mark and analyze every paragraph. She could witness the truth unravel before her, maybe gain some clarity and closure. She could leave all her questions behind and finally stop wondering what if. Or, she could be opening herself up to a world of infinite hurt.

Taking a deep breath, Betty reached down, plucked the manuscript from the bin, and opened to the first page;

In the beginning, all I remember is music. The melody of her words, the harmony of her laughter, the swell of her smile. It took mere moments for my heart to sync with the rhythm of her own. I took her hymns as gospel, and to this day I cannot seem to escape her haunting tune. That’s why I’m here now: to finally notate the theme she composed in hopes of bringing some part of her back to me.

She set the words down, desperately attempting to blink away the tears collecting in the edges of her eyes. She had forgotten the impact his words could have on her, the immense passion he infused into every word. This was going to be more difficult than she thought. Taking a moment to settle her rapid heartbeat, Betty slowly picked the pages back up. She had a lot of reading to do.

* * *

**She breathed sunshine and light, ignited fire and ambition. She brought color to my life where there was none, and left my world in shades of gray when she left. The void she created swallowed me whole. I tried desperately to fill it - with work, with cigarettes, with other bodies to lay next to at night - but the void consumed it all, leaving only the strongest echoes of my desires.**

**‘I love you. I’m sorry. Come back. I’m sorry.’**

Betty picked at the sleeve of her sweater, wearily watching as a single pink thread pulled loose. Her leg bounced underneath the table anxiously, and she placed a firm hand on her knee to remind herself to cease the hurried movement.

The door to the coffee shop swung open, and Betty scrambled to her feet, smoothing down the front of her sweater and taking a deep breath to try and still her beating chest.

“Hi.”

His voice was low and apprehensive, the familiar rumble sending shockwaves through her heart. He looked so heartbreakingly handsome, in a way that made her want to reach out and push the dark curl off his forehead. She could practically recall the feeling his tangled locks between her fingers – it would be so simple to just reach out and make that memory a reality.

But that was then, and this is now. There would be no contact, no affection. All the warm greetings of the past were no longer appropriate, finding themselves replaced by an awkward gesture and the scuffling of chairs as they took their respective seats.

They sat quietly for a moment, Betty trying to sort her thoughts. When she finally garnered up enough courage to speak, Jughead decided to break the silence and they spoke at the same time.

“I’m glad you called.”

“I read your book.”

Jughead gave a short chuckle and Betty’s cheeks tinted pink, and for a brief moment there was a lightness in Betty’s chest. The moment fled quickly, however, when Betty’s eyes landed on the thick manuscript placed between them.

“I, umm,” Betty cleared her throat, “I just felt like I needed to talk to you about – about all this.” She placed a delicate hand on the stack of papers.

Jughead seemed to stiffen a bit as his eyes flickered to the manuscript, his apprehension lacing the air around them.

Betty took a breath, mentally recalling the so-carefully prepared speech she had practiced a million times over.

“What you wrote was very... well written. You’ve clearly found your stride as a writer again. The themes are just as dark as your first book, but this story contains more of an… emotional aspect. You’ve made a definite - ”

“But what did you think?” Jughead interrupted.

Betty paused, her eyes widening ever-so-slightly at his unexpected brashness. “Excuse me?”

“You said you read it, but you aren’t actually telling me what you thought. Don’t treat me like another one of your profiles. I wrote this for you, I want to know how you feel about it.” His stormy eyes pleaded with her, a single hand reaching out and pressing down on top of her own, “Please.”

Betty looked down at his hand, calloused and dry and sending sparks up her arm. She pulled away, shoving both of her hands into her lap and staring down at her fingertips.

_“Am I crazy for feeling like this?” She whispered, her forehead pressed against his. “This is all just happening so fast.”_

_“Good fast or bad fast?” He asked, a small smile playing across his lips as his hands wove their way around her waist._

_“Definitely good fast.” She grinned, her lips brushing against his and murmuring those magic words for the first time. “I love you, Jughead Jones.”_

“I don’t know how to feel.” She admitted. It was the truth. She’d spent the past two weeks trying to sort out her thoughts, to make sense of the words she had read. “I just – it’s been three years Jughead.” She finally looked up, garnering the courage to look him in the eye, “Why did it take you three years to come back?”

“I’m sorry.” Jughead leaned toward her, “I shouldn’t have waited so long. I thought you were better off without me – you still might be.”

Betty didn’t respond, instead picking up the manuscript and placing it in her lap.

“Did you really mean all of this?” she asked.

“Every word.” He promised, his sincerity radiating down Betty’s spine. “Please, just give me one chance.”

She stilled, her eyes scanning the man in front of her. “What are you proposing?”

“A date. One date. And if you want me to disappear after I will.”

He looked as though he was ready to jump out of his chair, so desperate and pleading. Betty wanted to scream just looking at him, her jumbled emotions leaving her conflicted beyond belief. She should say no, that would be the logical decision. Why go back when she could keep moving forward? Still, if what he had written held even an ounce of truth… she had to know.

Betty slowly nodded her head, adrenaline flooding her veins as she made her decision.

“Okay.”

* * *

**Missing her was like missing fresh air: go without her long enough and you become accustomed to the tainted atmosphere, but the minute she returns you will thank the stars for clean breathing.**

_Betty smoothed the skirt of her dress for the millionth time that evening, excitedly reapplying her lip gloss. A first date, she thought, an excited giggle erupting from her chest. She picked up her phone to check the clock. Any minute now._

Betty took a deep breath and pulled at her sweater. It was just lunch; a simple sweater would do. Besides, the more effort she put into her appearance the more she would get her hopes up, and she couldn’t afford that. Not yet. She glanced at the digital clock sitting on her desk. Any minute now.

_She opened the door to a fistful of flowers. “White lilies!” She exclaimed affectionately, “They’re my favorite.” She accepted the bouquet to reveal the boy standing behind them, dressed in a button down and a well-pressed pair of slacks. Her stomach flipped when their eyes met. He was so incredibly handsome._

She decided to meet him at the lunch spot. If she arrived by herself she would be able to leave by herself, should the event arise that she need an easy out. Jughead was already at the bistro when she arrived, having selected a table on the outside patio. He stood to greet her, and she couldn’t help but smile at his dark denim jacket and cranberry sweater. _Keep it together Betty,_ she chided herself, _a single smile can’t fix everything._

_“So you know I’m a writer, but what is it that you do?” Jughead asked, the subdued chatter of the restaurant layering beneath his tone._

_Betty took a small sip of wine before responding, “I’m actually a writer too. Not a novelist like you – I’m a journalist. Or at least I’m trying to be a journalist. I want to write about people – why they are the way they are, what makes them tick, really get to the heart of a person. But for now it’s mostly grunt work – no by-line yet.” Her neck flushed red with embarrassment, “Obviously that’s not as interesting as being a published author –“_

_“I think that’s amazing.” Jughead cut her off, his encouraging smile sending a storm of butterflies through her stomach, “You’ve clearly have a gift for interviews. Something about you just makes people want to open up, Betty Cooper.” He smiled, “At least, that’s the affect you have on me.”_

They sat in silence after the waitress left with their orders, and Betty instantly felt less secure without the sturdy plastic menu to hide behind. What do you say to the person who already knows everything about you, but really knows nothing at all?

“I uh, I read your article. The profile on that playwright?” Jughead spoke, apparently deciding the appropriate topic of discussion was work, “It was incredible Betty. I always knew you’d do amazing things.” His tone was so sincere, so full of awe, it sent a wave of pride swelling through Betty’s chest. She knew his opinion of her shouldn’t carry this much weight, but right there, looking at the sparkle in his eye, she couldn’t help but feel exhilarated.

“Thank you.” She blushed, “And you -” She gestured toward him, “you’ve just been all over the place with talk of your new novel.”

Jughead scoffed, rolling his eyes, “That’s all it is – talk. My publisher’s doing. The reality is there is no novel. Well, there wasn’t, until…”

“Until you put the entire history of our relationship into a manuscript?” Betty finished for him, emphasizing the statement with a playful cock of her brow.

Jughead’s neck flushed with heat, “Yeah, until that.”

Betty leaned forward, pushing her weight onto her elbows and lowering her voice, “Why, um,” She asked, “Why did you write that?”

Jughead seemed to consider the question, “I don’t think I could have written anything else. It was like my soul was screaming, and the only way to silence all the noise was to write it down.”

“But why did it take you three years?” She was beginning to feel a bit like a broken record, but she couldn’t get past it. She needed answers.

Jughead sighed, “I wish I had a good reason, but I don’t.” He apologized, “The truth is I screwed up. I wasn’t struggling to write because of you, I was just angry with myself and I took it out on you. And after you left I – I just figured you had to be better off without me. So I bottled it all up. I kept it all inside until I felt like I was going to explode and – and all of it found life in ink on paper. And once it was all there, written out in front of me in black and white I just, I couldn’t let it stay there. I needed you to read it – to know how I felt.”

Betty looked at him sympathetically, the thick knot in her stomach loosening just a little. “You know,” she started, “You weren’t the only one who screwed up. I made my mistakes too.” She smiled softly, “And I hope you can forgive me for the pain I caused.”

“Of course I forgive you,” Jughead leaned forward insistently, “I’m the one who should be on my knees begging for your forgiveness.”

“I think your writing did most of that for you,” Betty assured him, “And… I’m still not sure what all of it means, but that apology did get us here.”

“Betts,” She shivered at the use of her old nickname, “it means everything.” He reached over and placed his hand on top of hers, and this time she didn’t pull away.

The moment was broken when the waitress reappeared with their food, causing both of them to jump back in their seats. Jughead cleared his throat and Betty stifled a giggle, the air between them suddenly feeling much clearer.

_“Is that all for the evening? Or is there anything else I could get you two?” The waiter looked at them expectantly._

_Jughead smiled at Betty, an unspoken question between them, “What do you say? Feel like sticking around for a bit longer?”_

_Betty paused, considering her options. She looked at the man sitting before her, his stormy eyes shimmering as his bottom lip pulled beneath his teeth in anticipation of her response. Who was she kidding? It might only be the first date, but she was already in deep._

_“Can we see your dessert menu please?”_

“So…” Jughead trailed off, his fingers nervously tapping the top of the table. This was it, the end of their lunch. This was her opportunity to walk away, her final out. She had only promised him one date, but, looking at him now, she wasn’t quite sure that was what she wanted.

She took a deep breath, a smile blooming across her lips. “Walk me home?”

_They slowed their pace drastically as they neared her door, both of them reluctant to finish the night. His hand tightened around hers._

They walked side by side, the physical contact between them stifling. She longed to reach out, confused as to why he wouldn’t bridge the gap. Suddenly, as they rounded the corner on the final block of their journey, clarity dawned on Betty: he was waiting for her permission. With a sudden surge of confidence, she reached out and slipped her fingers into his. He stumbled, a surprised look passing over his face, but he curled his fingers around her own nonetheless.

_“Well, this is me.” Betty stated, stalling in front of her door. She felt his thumb rub against her index finger, her breath catching as he took a step closer._

“This is me.” Betty laughed softly, “As if you didn’t already know that.” She smiled up shyly at him, lingering in anticipation.

_“I had a really nice time.” Jughead’s breath danced across her skin, sending her heart ablaze._

“Thank you.” Jughead rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “For giving me this chance. I know I didn’t deserve it.”

_He leaned in, and Betty’s breath hitched when his lips brushed against hers._

Betty squeezed his hand, prompting Jughead to look up and meet her eyes. “Sometimes a second chance is all you need.” She moved forward slowly, her hand leaving his and trailing up to cup his chin.

_It was a first kiss, full of passion and heat and potential._

It was a millionth kiss, soft and full of promise, a total reparation of a fractured heart.

_It was the beginning of everything._

It was the end of a long journey home.

She pulled away, her forehead resting on his. Betty basked in the rise and fall of her chest against his, a soft giggle bubbling to the surface. It was just a kiss, a short kiss in the middle of the afternoon on an unremarkable day, but it felt like so much more. This was a new start for them, a second chance at a first love.

And for now, that was more than enough.


End file.
